Interlude at Sea
by Alexandra Lyman
Summary: A collection of various deleted scenes and outtakes from Beyond the Horizon. Princess Emma and Captain Killian Jones, and the many nights at sea aboard the Jolly Roger.
1. Chapter 1

**Author: In Beyond the Horizon, this takes place at an unspecified time between Chapters 17 &amp; 18\. Just a little smutty interlude for a Saturday afternoon, I felt like writing something in this verse but it can also be read as a standalone. Princess Emma and Captain Killian Jones enjoying some sexytimes on the Jolly Roger, and Emma's first time giving a BJ, basically.**

The first time he had done this to her she had been shocked by it. The intimacy of such an act, the feel of his mouth between her legs exploring her, tasting her. His lips were so soft against her, even as his beard abraded the delicate skin on her inner thighs and the contrast of the pleasure against the pain had made her want to feel more, _more._ More sensations, more heated kisses and cool breath that made her shiver and shake. She'd pressed herself eagerly, wantonly against his wicked tongue, feeling him lap against her as the waves lapped against the ship and she'd been carried away on a white crest of feeling that lifted her up and crashed all around her and stole the very breath from her lungs.

She could so easily drown in him.

But that was not the only surprise. She realized quickly that he loved it as much as she did, that he loved giving her such intense pleasure, that he wouldn't stop until she reached that peak and then he'd settle over her with a smug smile and the taste of her clinging to his lips. Strange, to kiss him afterwards and swallow that salty rich tang and feel the hard press of him on her thigh. Proof of how much he had enjoyed his ministrations on that part of her that no one else had ever explored, save for the nights when her own nervous hand delved down in the darkened bedchamber with the bedclothes pulled up high and her face buried in the pillow.

One night she worked up the nerve and asked him, "Would you like it if I….did that to you?"

His eyes had shot to hers, his hair falling over his forehead in the way that always made her want to run her fingers through it and smooth it back, so she did and watched a strange play of emotions cross his face.

"Princess, for future reference you never have to ask that."

He stretched out on the narrow bunk and she couldn't help but trace the lines of his body with her eyes. The lantern next to the bed was turned down low and he lay more in the shadow than in the light, dark hair, dusky skin, and most definitely aroused by what she had suggested.

She slid down and brushed his stomach with kisses the way he did to her, each one slightly lower than the one before. He was completely rigid under her mouth, the muscles drawn up tight and quivering with each soft touch.

"You'll tell me if I do something wrong?" she whispered and saw his hand fist in the sheets.

"Unless you bite it off love, there's no way you could possibly do it wrong."

She suppressed a giggle and worked up the courage to flick her tongue over the tip of him.

So intimate, the taste of his salt in her mouth and his soft groans as she sucked and licked and explored. The skin was so soft yet he was so hard, and she took in as much as she could, her hands braced on his thighs and his fingers threading through her hair. She had imagined the nights she would spend in her marriage bed, the nameless, faceless man who would have her maidenhead and lay claim to her body, and had hoped he would be tender and gentle with her, loving and sweet.

The pirate who trembled underneath her appeared to be none of those things at first glance. She'd seen him strike with harsh blows and heard him raise his voice in anger, seen the violence in his eyes, worse than any storm at sea.

"Emma."

Her name fell from his lips on a choked sob and he thrust against her lips, hot and hard and _hers_.

He was tender and harsh, gentle and rough, sweet and tart, he was everything, and he _loved_ her. His ship was not a palace, and he was far from being a prince, but she dreamed not of that nameless, faceless man anymore and a pristine feather bed with white satin sheets. There was only blue eyes and a devilish smile, callused fingers and scratchy woollen blankets.

She kissed the velvet skin and nipped lightly at his hip, she nosed between his legs and inhaled his male scent, feeling the slickness coat her thighs, the throbbing ache of her own need. But he was gasping and shaking and when she took him in hand and flicked her tongue over him with rapid strokes he let out a string of curses and she understood the power of holding back on her own pleasure and giving this to him. No wonder he enjoyed doing this to her so much. She loved the sounds he was making, loved that she had done this to him.

_She thought, maybe, that she might love him._

"Your mouth...oh love, I've wanted this, you have no idea how much I've wanted your sweet tongue on my cock."

He grasped her shoulders and pushed her away from his lap and she looked up at his face, confused as to why he had stopped her if this was what he wanted.

His voice was low and thick with desire, "There's something else I've wished for. Will you do it for me?"

Her throat went dry, as curiosity and slight alarm flooded through her, "What?"

He sat up and went onto his knees at the end of the bed, "Come over here," he said, patting the mattress in front of him. She shuffled where he was pointing, and he nudged her around so that she was facing away from him.

"Get on your hands and knees," he whispered into her ear, a warm hand cupping her breast.

"Killian, I don't know...I'm not sure..."

She hated how nervous she sounded, but she couldn't help it. It was all still so new and terrifying.

Fingers traced her stomach, "Do you trust me?"

It was sheer insanity, how much she trusted this man who had stolen her away, the man who others feared so much. He pushed her hair off her shoulder and dusted feather light touches with his mouth over the slope. She leaned forward and planted her hands on the bed, breathing heavily as she felt him push her legs farther apart.

Slow and gentle, with his hands on her hips and the firm thighs behind her own, he claimed her again in a heavy slide into where she was slick and damp and aching, and it made her toes curl and heat bloom deep inside her.

"Oh!" she cried out, "_Oh!_"

He stilled inside her, "If it's too much tell me to stop now, otherwise I won't be able to. I don't want to hurt you darling, but I need...I need..."

"I'm not made of glass. I won't break."

She rocked back against him and almost heard the snap of his control breaking. He drew out and surged forward, his fingers digging into her skin and holding her in place. She felt a pull inside with every stroke and none of her girlish fantasies had ever come close to this.

"Mine," he groaned, and again, "_Mine!_ Emma, you're mine and _mine only_!"

They had exchanged no vows, signed no pledge, sought no permission from her parents, but all of that faded away. On a ship that sailed through unclaimed waters, bound by no kingdom's laws, she accepted his claim.

"Yours," she whispered, knowing he couldn't hear her through his lust-filled haze and the muffle of the bedclothes against her face, "Only yours."

His arms wrapped around her waist and hauled her back, the wave crashed over her again and swept them both away. She drowned in the feeling, in him.

Afterwards he held her close and nuzzled against her, warm lips on the back of her neck and his nose in her hair. She had washed it that evening with the soap he had bought her, pink rose petals pressed into the bar.

"I'll never smell a rose again without thinking of you," he mumbled.

She would never be able to look at the sea again without thinking of him.

"Go to sleep, Captain."

His hand found hers and their fingers laced together under the blanket.

"Sweet dreams, Princess."

Her eyes closed and held safe and warm in her sailor's arms, the tide rose over her and carried her away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author: Another little smutty interlude from _Beyond the Horizon_. Princess Emma gets drunk for the first time, much to Captain Jones's amusement. I posted a shorter version of this on Tumblr a few days ago.**

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**And a Bottle of Rum**

The princess was drunk.

All of the signs were there, the slight slur to her words, the too-bright eyes, and the deep flush that rose in her cheeks and across the tops of her lovely breasts. She laughed too loudly at the crew's jests and kept leaning against him where they sat on the bench seat in a corner of the tavern, one hand wandering higher and higher up on his thigh with each libation she downed.

The princess was a _handsy_ drunk. Not that he minded, of course, so long as _he_ was the only recipient of such bold caresses from those royal hands.

Killian slung an arm over her shoulder and pressed a quick kiss to her temple. It was their last night in port before casting off and continuing the search for the ship Emma's mermaid friend had told her about and they were holding court with his men in a bar filled to the brim with sailors from the nearby docks. The liquor was flowing freely, great foaming mugs of ale and brown glass bottles of rum were being passed around the tables as the men all indulged themselves to the fullest one final time before going back to the daily routine of strict rations, swabbing the deck and pumping the bilges, and trimming the sails. It was longstanding tradition for each member of the crew to buy the captain a drink, and they had extended that courtesy this night to the woman who now shared his quarters and his heart.

"To Mistress Jones! As beautiful as a siren and as kind as a fairy godmother."

Doyle offered up the toast, his nose red with drink as he lifted his tankard to a cheer from the rest. They all echoed the sentiment and crashed their mugs together with a cry, "To Mistress Jones!"

She snatched the glass right out of Killian's hand and tipped back the rum, long throat working as she swallowed and her golden curls spilling down loose on her back. He raised an eyebrow at her sheer cheek in daring to steal a drink from a pirate even as his nether regions began to stir and stiffen under the leather. The crew carried on with their merriment, ordering another round as he spoke softly in her ear.

"I believe it is time for us to retire for the night."

Emma pouted at him, hand sliding even further north and almost brushing against his rapidly rising mast, "But I'm not _sleepy_, Killian. I'm not a _dwarf_."

He wondered if she was drunker than he realized and nudged away the bottle of rum she was trying to reach with her other hand, sliding it neatly across the table to Smee.

"Who said anything about sleeping, my dear wife?" he asked, brushing his lips over her knuckles as he stood up from the table and grasped her hand. There were a few knowing looks thrown his way, some winking and nudging amid the men that Emma seemed oblivious to. Or perhaps she simply didn't care, she had accepted his offer of (pretend) matrimony, after all, and there was no hiding the fact that the "marriage" had already been consummated. Most of them assumed he'd been bedding her for far longer, anyway. A few claps on the back and wishes for, _"A very good night to you, Captain,"_ that were heavy with insinuation, and he was leading her to the door.

She walked out of the tavern on unsteady feet, hips swaying to and fro and making her skirt swing around her ankles like a ringing bell with the hastily-fastened cloak slipping from her shoulders. Killian kept one arm around her waist to hold her steady, trying to stifle his laughter at the very unladylike curses she spouted when the heel of her boot got caught in a stray bit of net on the docks and she nearly topped over. He tossed aside the rum bottle he had nicked from the tavern and in one neat move he hefted her up in his arms while she shrieked and flailed.

"Killian! Put me down, I can walk."

"First off, no, you clearly can't, love, and second, hush up, I've carried rum barrels heavier than you. Although you're practically a rum barrel yourself right now, were you trying to bankrupt my crew back there?"

Emma sounded completely outraged, "Are you implying that I'm _drunk_, Captain? Princesses not do, I mean, princesses _do not_ get drunk. S'not appropriate royal behaviour, you see."

"Aye, I see, I see," he humoured his drunk princess with a chuckle, making his way to the pier where the Jolly was docked and waiting. A pair of passing sailors stopped and eyed them.

"Do you need any assistance, miss?" one called out suspiciously, seeing the way she was wriggling about in his arms like a slippery eel, still extolling him to put her down, "Do you know this man?"

He tensed, feeling his back go straight and his jaw clench at the implication that he was carrying her away for nefarious purposes (even as he felt the flash of guilt that he had, in fact, abducted her for nefarious purposes), but Emma merely laid her head against his shoulder and slipped a hand under the lapel of his coat, snuggling against him.

"Course I do! He's my husband."

They backed off, either reassured by her claim or warned off by his glare and disappeared into the darkness of the wharves. The looming bulk of the Jolly rose against the night sky and welcomed them both aboard as he strode up the gangplank and nodded at Keswick, standing guard on the deck.

"Captain," Keswick greeted him.

"Captain," Emma repeated, with a giggle and a hiccup, "You're Killian. Captain Killian. Captain. Killian. Almost rhymes, isn't that funny?"

"Hilarious," he deadpanned, helping her down the ladder to their quarters so that she wouldn't fall, "And you, Princess Emma, are drunk."

"Is this what drunk is? Feeling like you're going to fly?"

She spun around in a circle, arms outstretched and forcing him to duck underneath to avoid a collision. He caught her wrist and lifted her up again, setting her on the edge of the bed and bending down to tug off her boots. When he looked up he saw that she had unlaced the top of her bodice just enough to expose a generous swath of creamy skin that teetered on the edge of indecency. Then she leaned forward and fell right over it.

"Emma," he groaned, fighting the urge to have her flat on her back with his face pressed in between those breasts and his cock buried between her legs, "We shouldn't."

"Why not?"

"Because a gentleman does not take advantage of a lady who is too far gone in her cups. You're drunk, my love."

Her eyes met his, bright even in the darkness of the cabin and a crease appeared between her brows, "You drank plenty back in the...the thing...the place with the rum. How's it you're not drunk?"

Killian sighed, his shoulders dropping as he looked back down at the floor, "Long years of practice."

All the nights when he'd imbibed heavily with his crew, or with the women he barely remembered in the morning, or alone. The man who once railed against spirits found hidden in a sailor's bag and chastised the whole crew about drunkendess and bad form, and now-

Emma's hand went under his chin and tilted his head back up, her thumb brushing the curve of his jaw as her mouth pressed against his with the taste of burnt sugar and dark spice on her tongue. When she fell back against the bed with her hands clutching his lapels he followed, how could he not? He chased her sweet kisses and felt her peel the coat from his shoulders and yank the hem of his shirt from his trousers with suddenly steady hands.

"I may be drunk, but I know what I want," she mumbled between kisses, "Take me to bed and ravish me, Captain."

Amusement rolled through him and he pointed out, "We are already in bed, Princess."

"Well that's convenient!" she said brightly.

He outright laughed at that, braced above her on his forearms while she blinked at him and smile spread across her face.

"I like it when you laugh, Killian. I like it when you're happy."

The warm feeling in his belly had nothing to do with the rum. He went onto his knees and started unbuttoning his shirt, fiddling with his cuffs and winking at her, "Well, if the princess _insists_ on being ravished by the captain, then ravished she shall be."

Emma shrieked again when he pinned her to the bed, her wrists above her head with her bodice fully undone to but still clinging to her shoulders. He had used his teeth to tug the laces loose, tearing her blouse open and sucking on a rosy nipple until it was as firm as a ripe cherry in his mouth. She squirmed underneath him when he rutted his hips against her, letting her feel his desire trapped between them, and relished the way her back arched up off the bed. The skirt and petticoat were both worked off her hips and dumped unceremoniously onto the floor and when her legs opened under his urging hand and he felt how slick and heated she was already he lost his head, shoving her thighs fully apart and lining himself up with a fist around his aching cock.

The moan that tore from her lips when he pushed inside was as alluring as any siren's song and drew him in even further, he'd dash himself to pieces on the rocks for her over and over again, he knew he would. Nails raked down his back, branding him as hers, while a heel dug into his arse and her soft hair slipped through his fingers. He tangled them in the long strands, grunting with the effort of his thrusts while he hitched an arm under her knee and pushed it back. His head was foggy with both drink and the pleasure of her warm and willing body, and from the wanton noises she was making she was enjoying his ravishment just as much as he was. But he needed more, needed to give her more and with a press and a flick of his thumb against the sensitive nub just above where they were joined her sent her sailing over that peak at last. Emma's legs trembled around him and he felt her squeeze him from the inside, he followed her into blissful satisfaction, swearing loudly and doing his level best not to crush her when he collapsed. Killian toppled onto his side in the bunk, his chest heaving and sweat plastering his hair to his forehead. Emma curled against him, looking like a cat that got into the cream, and was asleep almost at once, snoring lightly and absolutely _reeking_ of liquor. He made a note to put an empty bucket next to the bed when he got up in the morning and reached up to switch off the lantern, whispering, "Sweet dreams, Emma, because you're going to have one _hell_ of a hangover in the morning."

(She did, along with most of the crew. He took pity on them all and delayed their departure until after she ceased to look quite so green around the gills and also stopped threatening to kill him with his own sword for breathing too loudly. Killian Jones was a pirate, but he was no fool.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Another little "deleted scene" between the pirate and the princess in my Beyond-verse. This was posted a while ago on my Tumblr, finally adding it here too.**

**_Dance Lessons _**

The sword clattered loudly to the deck for the fifth time in as many minutes and Emma looked like she was on the verge of bursting into tears, swiping angrily at her eyes and then putting her hands on her hips, pacing around the blade as she glared down at it.

"I'll never get it right."

"Captain! Captain?" Keswick called helplessly when she stamped her foot like a petulant child who had been denied a sweet. Had it been any of the crew throwing a fit while under his tutledge Keswick would have simply clouted them soundly on the ear and ordered them to pick the sword up again, but every man on the ship knew better than to even _think_ of raising a hand to the woman their captain had taken as his wife. The penalty had been made abundantly clear, and no one on his crew was fool enough to risk his wrath when it came to _her_.

Even if she was about to _completely_ lose her temper, and rather spectacularly at that if her flushed cheeks and heaving bosom were to be believed.

Killian came down from his position at the helm and waved Keswick back without a word, watching him beat a hasty retreat across the planks a safe distance away from the powder keg that was clearly about to go off. For a moment he considered offering her comfort, soft words and reassurance, and the lesson left unfinished for the day with the sword packed away for tomorrow. But instead he crossed his arms over his chest and spoke in a quiet but firm tone, "Pick it up and try again."

The command was met with immediate royal displeasure as her back went as ramrod straight as any admiral's and her lips thinned to a tight line, "What?"

"I'll not repeat myself, you heard what I said."

She took a step forward, her chin lifting defiantly and his love for the brazen princess who never shied away from going toe to toe with the most feared pirate to sail under the crossed bones of the Jolly Roger filled his chest till it was fit to burst. But he kept his face hard, what Emma needed was not tenderness if she was going to defeat the particular foe that threatened to best her now.

"Is that an order?" she challenged.

The crew had all stopped in the middle of their tasks to watch, muttering to each other in low voices and clearly waiting to see how he would react to Emma's insubordination. He knew his more gentle handling of her then they expected had caused considerable talk below deck, the privileges he afforded her far beyond what was normally given to a pirate's woman if she lived on board the ship. But while he would never strike her, neither would he cede any ground and he slowly circled around her, forcing her to turn and match his stride if she wanted to keep him in her field of vision.

"Aye," he said at last, "You may be my wife now, and lady of the ship, but I am still the captain and when I give an order you _will _obey me."

It was both a reproach and a deliberate goad, designed to provoke an angry response. Emma's nostrils flared and her fingers curled tight against her skirt. But she moved with grace, sweeping low and grasping the hilt of the sword in one smooth motion so unlike her earlier clumsiness when she'd been practicing with Keswick. She wanted to improve her skill with the blade and learn how to handle other weapons, and since a life among pirates was one where mortal peril was commonplace and danger always lurked just over the horizon he encouraged her interest and allowed the best among his crew to teach her what they knew. McIntyre was good with knives, and she had learned to pull a blade in a blink and flick it at a target rigged up from some old clothes padded with heavy sailcloth and stuffed into shape with straw. Keswick was the second best swordsman on the ship (_after_ the captain, of course) and they had been working together on some complicated bits of footwork over the last several days. But Emma had struggled hard with learning the moves and not only was she not improving, she was growing increasingly despondent over her failure and was even having trouble with the more basic techniques that she had already mastered.

Clearly, a different method of instruction was needed. He considered drawing his own sword and sparring with her himself, but another idea came to him and a grin spread over his face as he continued to stalk around her in a backwards step. Her skirt swayed as she matched his movements without thought, pivoting easily on the ball of her foot to keep up.

Emma watched with wary eyes as he moved towards her, holding the sword loosely in her hand with the blade pointing towards the deck. She looked like she was itching to aim it for his throat instead and he bit back his amusement, slipping behind her before she could protest and sliding an arm neatly around her slender waist.

"Think of it like a dance, Princess," he whispered lowly in her ear as his free hand sidled down her arm and grasped her wrist, "It's really no different than learning the steps to a minuet or a waltz."

"Are you saying that _you_ know how to dance the minuet and the waltz, Captain?"

Her voice was somewhat higher than normal, laying the challenge at his feet again. Killian urged her arm up until she was holding the sword out in front of them both and it was in the correct position, the flat of the blade winking in the sun.

"Learning to dance and learning to fight are not that dissimilar. In both cases there's only one rule, pick a partner who knows what he's doing. Now, follow my lead," he instructed.

He nudged her leg with his knee and they began to move. Two steps forward, parry, thrust, and then a step back, a slash, a fast pivot on the back foot and a quick turn to avoid the opponent's charge. They went through it again, his fingers pressed into her hip to steer her through the footwork. Slowly at first, letting Emma find the rhythm while he counted off the steps out loud, and then with more speed. A laugh escaped her and he grinned at the sound, rubbing his thumb on the inside of her wrist as her steps became more and more assured and soon they were in perfect sync. The crew even applauded, calling out praise of "You can take on any man now, Mistress!" and "We'll make a full pirate of you yet, Mistress!" before drifting away to their duties and grog.

"See?" Killian said when they came to a halt, "I knew you could master it, you just needed to try it a different way."

Emma tilted her head back, her long plait tickling his neck while her cheek turned to his and they lowered the sword together, sheathing it at her waist with his hand atop hers on the hilt, "Thank you, Killian."

He pressed a kiss to the white shoulder revealed by the neckline of her dress and resisted the urge to rock his hips forward and let her feel the effect her proximity always had on him. It was neither the time nor the place for that sort of dance, but when she turned in his arms and peeked up at him from beneath demurely lowered lashes with a certain, _familiar_, tilt to her lips, it took all of his restraint to pull back and return to duty while Keswick took over the lesson again with his pupil's mood _very_ much improved.

...

...

"Dance with me?"

Killian showed no sign of surprise when she held her hand out and asked him after dinner had been cleared away and the candles were burning low, casting flickering shadows against the walls. The cabin was small and there wasn't much room for elaborate minuets or grand waltzes like the kind she danced at court balls, but his arm circled her waist again and she wrapped hers around his neck while their hands clasped and their fingers laced together.

"Is that an order?" he teased, already falling easily into step and making her wonder again about what his life was like before he turned to piracy and ran away from his past. He clearly did know what he was doing, lifting their joined hands into an arch above their heads while they turned in a circle.

"Aye," she answered, and he threw his head back and laughed even as his fingers pressed into her back and pulled her flush against him, crossing the line from courtly gentleman to her pirate lover. He had already taken off his vest and she could feel the heat of him through his loose shirt, mourning the loss when he spun her away and welcoming it when he drew her back into his arms with that knowing smile.

They swayed together from side to side, moving lightly across the creaking planks until Killian suddenly lifted her up, sweeping her off her feet and cocking a brow at her, "Will you follow my lead, milady?"

"Anywhere."

He carried her to the bed and undressed her slowly, lips trailing over her collarbone and down between her breasts when he finally peeled her corset from her body. Emma worked the buttons on his shirt and traced her fingers over the raised lines of his scars, watching him shudder under her touch with his eyes closed and his mouth open.

The dance continued with different steps, she lay back against the mattress and welcomed him into the space between her thighs where he sheathed himself as easily as the sword in a movement that made her shudder, back arching upwards and a gasp falling from her lips that he quickly kissed away. She hitched a leg over his hip and their fingers laced together again, the rhythm of his body inside hers was a sweet as the notes plucked by a bard from a lute. But theirs was a secret song, known to only the two of them in this bed of coarse linen sheets and woollen blankets.

"I love you, Emma."

Killian said it against her lips while he continued to move, the cords of his arms flexing with the effort like they had as she had felt when they were wielding the sword. He said it in a whisper, he said it as a promise, but he never used it as a command. She kissed him hard, hard enough to steal his breath, and promised it back, "I love you too, Killian."

It had taken her far too long to admit that what she felt for the pirate who danced better then most of the lords at her mother's court was, in fact, love and she knew she had hurt him badly with her silence. But he had waited patiently and the way his face lit up every time she said it now made her feel like she wasn't even touching the ground even as he pressed her deeper into the bed and loved her until they were both spent at last, damp sweat cooling on their skin under their still-wandering hands.

"Well, you certainly don't need assistance with mastering _that,_" he said with a chuckle and a hand on her hip, lying in a tangle of naked limbs with the sheets in fearful disarray and her hair spilling loose over the pillow, "But any time you wish to practice some more-"

"Oh, I'm sure Mr. Keswick would be agreeable, or perhaps Mr. McIntyre."

She let out a shriek when Killian suddenly loomed above her, scowling and pinning her wrists firmly in his strong hands, "They may teach you to fight, my darling, but this is only for _me_. Captain's orders."

His frowning displeasure melted away under her kisses and the way she pressed into him, moulding them together and welcoming him right back where he belonged with a reassuring, "You know there's no one else I want to _dance_ with."

"There bloody well better not be," he mumbled, tasting the salt on her skin and teasing at her breasts with that clever mouth, "I've claimed every last one from you, Princess."

When he slid inside her again she brushed the hair back from his forehead with one hand and locked her ankles firmly behind the small of his back while giving him her sweetest smile, "Seems I've found my partner then, Captain."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N - Unlike the other "interludes" - this one isn't smutty. Just a bit of reflection from Killian's POV that was written for a Tumblr prompt.**

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**as a sailor loves the sea**

He had never expected to fall in love with the sea.

It was a slow romance, a gradual courtship of gentle waves that rocked him to sleep at night while his belly ached from hunger and his feet stuck out from the other end of the too-small blanket, bare and numb with cold. His mother's voice was naught but a distant memory that faded a little more with each passing day, but her eyes had been as blue as the ocean at high noon and he would pause for a moment with the scrub brush clutched in his hand or the rope twisted between his palms and look out over the water, remembering the time when he had been warm and safe and loved.

Liam made them fishhooks, bending bits of wire in the light from the lamp with his curly head bent to his task and his tongue poking out from between his teeth. The other, older sailors would sometimes take their catch, laughing and jeering at the two of them while the rotten bastard of a captain smirked and shrugged, turning his back and pretending not to see. But the cook was a kindly man who also turned a blind eye when they smuggled a brace of perch or cod into the galley and dried it over the fire.

_"A feast fit for a king!"_ his brother proclaims, when they sit and eat the bounty given to them by the sea, cutting off pieces for the both of them with his knife and smiling through the whiskers that have started to sprout on his cheeks and chin. Liam is the one who apprentices them to every crewman who will have them, bartering away their rare moments of leisure to learn navigation, sail-making, gunnery and whatever else he could charm and wheedle his way into. They'll have a ship of their own one day, a promise made with all the fierceness a boy who became a man too soon can muster, they'll sail uncharted realms and swim with mermaids and taste freedom as easily as the salt on their tongues.

And they do, for a while. _Glory for the Jones brothers_.

They day he buries Liam beneath the waves is a blur of pain and rage and regret, he'd tried so hard to follow in the footsteps of the only one left in the world who loved him, to be as good and as honourable of a man, to be a sailor who could steer them through the storm and bring them safely home. But home was gone, had been gone the moment Father abandoned them to the mercy of the sea and the care of uncaring men, there was nothing left but the wood under his feet and the rocking of the ocean, lulling him to sleep at last with the salt of his tears still fresh on his cheeks and the taste of rum on his tongue.

Naval blue was exchanged for black leather, a royal standard for a pirate flag, flown high and proud on the mast for all and sundry to see. A free man at last, beholden to no master save the wind and bound to nothing but the movement of the tides. He sailed through blood-red sunsets and schools of jellyfish a hundred leagues wide, he visited strange lands of exotic women and fabulous wealth, he saw the stars themselves move across the heavens and heard the oddly beautiful song of the whales.

Emma shifted against him, her head resting on his shoulder and her fingers playing gently with the rings on his hand. The bold, brazen princess had climbed the rigging as nimbly as any cabin boy and joined him where he sat on the yardarm, watching the point where the sea met sky long after the sun set and the moon rose overhead. He legs were draped across his lap, bare feet peeking out from under her skirt and propped against the smooth, worn wood. They sat in silence, not because he had nothing to say but because he had too much, an ocean of words to share with the woman who had stepped on his ship and capsized his life as easily as any tidal wave, stripping him of every last defense in the process until he was as vulnerable and exposed as if he'd been washed up naked on a deserted isle.

"How big do you think it is?"

"Hmm?" he said, one hand wrapped around her and his thumb rubbing slow circles against the curve of her hip.

"The ocean," Emma murmured, "How big is it?"

Dark water surrounded them as far as the eye could see, the four points on his compass stretched on seemingly forever as the Jolly softly bobbed on the waves.

A chuckle escaped from between his lips, "Larger than any one man can measure, I'd wager."

"Will you show me?"

Her voice was soft and drowsy, golden hair tickling his cheek as she tucked her head under his chin and rested her fingers on his thigh, "Will you show me, Killian?"

"Aye, love. I'll show you."

He had never expected to fall in love with _her_, but as the sun appeared in the east and the dawn broke over them in a shower of pink and gold he held her close and let the sea rock her to sleep, safe and warm in his arms.


	5. Chapter 5

**Just a bit of smutty bathtime fun with the pirate and the princess ; )**

* * *

**Sponge Bath**

He flung open the door to his quarters in a foul mood. The ship they'd been tracking had disappeared in a bank of fog, the potential prize slipping through their fingers tot he disappointment of all. Killian wanted nothing more than a drink (or rather, the whole bloody bottle) but he stopped dead in his tracks at the sight before him.

Emma was bare from the waist up, standing in front of the wash basin with her hair piled on top of her head and her back to him. The petticoat was tugged down low on her hips as she dipped a sponge into the steaming water and squeezed it out, turning to look at him over her shoulder.

"What's wrong?"

"Not a damn thing."

The door was kicked shut with his boot as he strode to the desk and settled himself in the chair, propping his feet up and lacing his hands behind his head.

"Don't stop on my account."

Her eyes narrowed at him for a moment before she shrugged and turned back to her task, scrubbing the sponge down one arm and up the other. The scent of roses filled the air, from the cake of fine-milled soap that she was using to bathe with. It had cost him a pretty penny, but he didn't begrudge a single cent of it as he watched the sway of her breasts when she bent forward to wash behind her neck. She hummed something under her breath, skin turning pink with each swipe of the sponge and droplets of water running down her back to pool right at that dip where he placed his hand to guide her whenever they were strolling on deck or took to the streets together when the_ Jolly_ was in port. It was a signal just like the crimson flag that flew from the top of the mast.

_She was his._

His breathing grew ragged as she untied the petticoat and let it pool at her feet, stepping out of the puddle and raising a leg to balance her foot on a low stool. The sponge was rubbed in slow circles over her thigh and down her calf, dipped back in the basin and squeezed out again, and then she switched to the other leg. He could see the curls between her thighs, gold and damp, while her nipples were tightened to hard points in the open air. The trousers were tight over his straining cock, desperate to be freed from the leather and buried back in the slick heat that lay just below the downy thatch of hair. The sponge was swiped over the triangle and he groaned out loud.

"Are you quite alright, Captain?"

A bloody siren she was, flushed and scrubbed pink as a seashell with modestly downcast lashes. But the smile belied her innocent tone, she knew just how much she was affecting him as she reached up and unpinned her hair, letting it fall down and veil those glorious breasts.

He was on his feet without thought, throwing off his coat and reaching her in two strides as she tossed the sponge into the basin and wrapped her arms around his neck. The long legs hooked easily around his waist as he carried her back to the chair and sat down, watching the surprise in her eyes as he undid his laces with one hand and gave her a wink.

"Ride me, Princess."

They both groaned when she sank down on top of him, wetness that was not from the bath easing his way until he was fully sheathed with his balls pressed against the soft curve of her arse. Emma braced her hands on his shoulders and began to move, rising and falling as he licked away the drops of water that had gathered along her collarbones with his hand on the small of her back. But he made no move to guide her, letting her use his body for her own pleasure as her fingers curled tight in his shirt and her lips found his. The scent of roses filled the air and damp skin slipped under his hands, flushed with the heat of their lovemaking as her back arched and he took a nipple into his mouth.

_"Killian."_

His name on her lips was almost his undoing, her hands moving to his hair as she held him to her breast and the roll of her hips into his becoming more urgent and needy as she moved even faster. His thighs burned and he could take it no longer, planting his boots against the floor and thrusting up to meet her downward strokes as his thumb sought the place that would send her into instant bliss. The squeeze of her quim around his cock as she started to spasm was too much, breath leaving his lungs as his head fell back and his eyes slammed shut while he spilled himself in three quick jerks.

"I think I need to have another bath."

He chuckled, holding her to his chest and running a hand down her back, "I'll have the tub brought in so you can have a proper one this time."

Emma lifted her head, eyes sparking with mischief, "Are you going to watch again, Captain?"

"Of course, love. Captain's prerogative to supervise all the goings-on that take place aboard his ship."

His princess smiled, "Well, you can make yourself useful this time and wash my hair for me."

No one else on the_ Jolly_ would have dared to speak to him that way, but that was her prerogative and hers alone.

Just like his heart.

Emma wrapped herself in her robe while he tucked himself away and tied up his laces, already imagining them both stripped and slippery with soap.

"Killian? What happened to your prize?"

He had almost forgotten about the ship that had just eluded him only a short while ago, pausing in the door and turning to meet her curious look.

"Got away, I'm afraid."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

The ring flashed on her finger as she reached up to comb through her hair. He closed the door and went to give the order for water to be heated and the tub brought to his quarters from the hold. What was one measly prize when he had the greatest treasure a man could ever hope to find held safe and sound in his arms every night?


End file.
